Sometimes, extenuating circumstances dictate an aggressive course of action.
Sometimes, life calls for you being militant about your life, those in it and what you hold dear.

Finding love can be as time consuming and challenging as sitting through an entire LOTR marathon unaided by methamphetamines….. Keeping that love is like walking the actual road to Mount Doom (in my case in genocidal heels; in your case…maybe barefoot). But Love is always worth fighting for.

Nobody said that it would be easy, so why do we constantly trick ourselves into thinking it’s meant to be. There’s a false dichotomy between the realities of Love and the fluffed up perception of grand gestures of affection often coupled with tacky red-hearted crap and confectionary!

True Love is always worth fighting for; worth working hard for. Become militant about what matters most.
Be your own crusader.
Become a visionary, a revolutionary.
Be an advocate for Love.
Be willing to stand on the front lines and fight.
Be relentless with your Love and Respect.


At the end of the day, when the zombie hoards and reflective vest wearing indigents (possibly one and the same?) descend upon our asses, there is absolutely no one else I’d rather have holding my hand than him. When the dust settles, Love is all that remains.
My Bestie knotted the tie a few weeks back. Weddings can be hard, shifting family dynamics…even harder, but it’s all in aid of creating a more authentic experience on this blue space rock of ours.  Our story is a bit different….COWARDS!!!!!! Cowards that we are! Damn straight… luckily me and the Moth that is Awesome share the same genetic predisposition in avoiding family, tradition and generally whatever is expected of us. E-L-O-P-E-D!!!!!!!

E- easy with…
L- less effort than a wedding…
O- often
P- prefaced with…
E- emotional blackmail and
D- disinheritance.

But, Bestie is brave and beautiful and has more self-control and nerve to pull off a wedding in her pinky toe than both me and Moth’s neural pathways combined (so that’s a fuck load because psychedelics are just vitamins for the brain)!
Bestie & Bumz....'coz thats how they roll!

At the time of our  flourishing dalliance (Mills & Boons much?….actually not), Moth and I were(are) a hot mess of loved up chaos hurtling towards each other at the speed of light. We’re much the same now, always in a constant state of flux between neurosis and passivity.  As young as we were (barely legal at the time on my part), we got official with the least amount of effort and minimal family interaction. We did throw a kick-ass celebration (before…of course), with our bestest and closest and got as bubbly as the stuff we were drinking. And on the day, after the official admin… we gave our 30 minutes grace to the Fam and fucked off to a secluded valley, deep in Wine Country with an undisclosed amount of the best chronic.

We were lights out by 9pm, Moth slept with a butcher’s knife under his pillow that night. That would ordinarily set of warning bells to anybody with an iota of common sense….but then you have to understand that he’s a city boy from Cape Town, with a hyped up view of farm invasions and a sense of adventure (i.e. looking for an appropriate time to stab someone in the eye and claim self-defence). Our relationship has advanced in a climate of external torment and difficulty, so there has never been space for much internal conflict. When we realised that we have Us; only then did we figure out that we don’t need Them or Stuff. So…. STUFF THEM!

He holds my hand when we cross the road. He encourages my flights of fancy. He keeps me grounded when I become deluded by grandeur. He’s made me believe in past and future lives. He offer’s me constant tech support (ahem!).  He’s been subjected to my constantly updated list of phobias and points of contention. He now eats green stuff and doesn’t survive solely on faces, Marlboros and Coke. He whoo’s me with cupcakes and ganja (like any good man should) and lets me sit in his lap when I’m sad. We don’t agree on everything and he never puts a new loo roll in the toilet when it’s done.  But fuck Chang(e)ing Him and Them and Stuff. We both accepted eachother voetstoets (as is) from the very beginning.

I don’t care much about The War on Terror or The War on Drugs (okay, the second one does concern me a tad). I am fighting a War on Trivial Bullshit, that sometimes overthrows even the most star crossed of lovers.

“You never change things by fighting the existing reality. To change something, build a new model that makes the existing model obsolete- Buckminster Fuller”

I am militant…. And it helps that Moth has elleventy- seven thousand hours of RPG and first person shooter experience.  We wage war….and why not? Especially when Love is at stake!
In an effort to ensure our family’s survival during a not too distant zombie apocalypse, as well as to test our readiness against the imminent domination of the mindless masses…wait a minute (on account of my last statement, I do believe we’ve already been helically compromised), I took the liberty of revising our current contingency plan, aptly named Zurviving  Zhe Zombies v2.0. And yes, I get to make that stereotype  guilt free- it’s the only compensation I get for my fluency in the German language and culture. My parents incorrectly assumed that Germany would remain a dominating power and sent me to a German school, in retrospect, had they known that the order of the power- proficient day would be Somali Pirates, I think public school would’ve come in tops. Don’t get me wrong…I’m very gratefull- I get seasick. TANGENT!



Back on point. Let’s just say that one fatefull night last week, intoxicated by the fumes of a spontaneously combustible, not-so-cruciferous plant, myself and Funky got hold of some sticky notes and a highlighter and went to task updating our contingency plan. Besides, you know how us ladies have an unexplained affection for colourful stationary....and smiley faces. :) Like Gin Rummy always says, "Bitches lurve them smiley faces..think I'll send you one right now".


This is a cruciferous vegetable.
It is not spontaneously combustable.
This is not what I'm talking about.
 

Also, Funky....you may ask? Well, I do apologize for the overdue introduction, she is the only other organic life form that has managed to survive in our household. We have a cactus hanging on for dear life but it's really touch and go at the moment- so it's been automatically disqualified. Christened with all the pomp and ceremony befitting Simba from the Lion King, Funky Pennylope Mafikeng is the severely disgruntled, pseudo-suicidal, furry lovechild of Moth and I.


 
Introductions aside, and on to the more pressing matter of zombies. Moth made an interesting observation, stating that our plan fails to take various  technological implications into consideration. So he's talking about cerebral interference and mind control- and I'm sitting there thinking.... "Oh! I'll fashion these nifty deflective tinfoil helmets". Besides, a mind controlling zombie overlord? Highly implausible, but don't tell him I said that.... dammit these helmets don't do sweetfannybluehole.....busted!

He says....Justin Bieber.
I recant my above statement.

 
 So now that we've concluded the semi-preventative segment of the plan, our focus turns to our epic race against time to find a cure. A good friend of mine is in fact an actual scientist, however, borne out of my natural affection for the chaos theory I've decided not to consult with a chief virologist. Instead, I'm willing to take my chances against her seven years of highly specialized training and just....wing it! So in order to achieve an authentic approach I set the stage by dragging out every godforsaken glass I own, arranged them in neat rows and filled them each with an assortment of Fanta....the fun might not always find you- but the zombies sure as hell will!

Okay, so my kitchen might look more like a meth lab, but I'm satisfied with the results, so onto finding this illusive cure. Not withstanding my lack of formal scientific eduction, myself and Funky were progressing on our cure quite well. And by progressing I mean, we basically settled on the idea of simplicity and based our entire research on common household mould. Give me a brick; and I'll grow you mould. We've become quite the mould aficionado's in our efforts to preserve our family unit.

Scoff all you want ladies and gentlemen, but consider this before you throw those furry veggies away- you could potentially be disposing of valuable fungiforms that could be used in engineering a super vaccine- one the world has never seen before- thus ensuring the survival of the last bastion of human resistance. #just sayin' - that's all.

Zombie Apocalypse, you say?
Unlikely, you say?
She's got a flare for the dramatics, you say?

-YES-

The signs are all around us, and the hairy worms...they won't stop following me. If a whole genus is trying to communicate impending doom by annoying the shit out of you in the garden- then that shoulda-kinda constitute a cause for alarm. Now that you've had some time to digest this, you're more than likely thinking that this might not be that implausible. To further back my case, I'd like to refer you to what Spock once said, "If you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable <insert pause> must be the truth". And you kinda don't fuck with Vulcan logic... #again- just sayin'!

Anxious, are we?
Could that be thinly veiled panic on your faces?
Don't you wish I could stop posing statements as questions?

But alas, I digress. Our plan has as much holes as Julius Malema's political rhetoric, but at least there's a sembelence of a plan. Bet you wish you had some incubated mould right now!

You're welcome!
Dear Nagatha Christie,

A Hari Krishna handed me a book recently (I'm still trying to figure out if she was infact a Hari Krishna....or a Scientologist posing as a Hari Krishna).There's a gem in the book that stuck to me like syphillis, and it reads...

"When your mind is crippled with auhority, as it is, it is very difficult to be free."

At the best of times I'm easy; but being free is a tad bit harder. Don't get me wrong, your misplaced concern and morbid facination with my wherabouts are totally appreciated and fall into the same category as the all the other creepies that add colour to my life and negatively promote rampant paranoia on my part. I particulary enjoyed how you made the Higher Authority sound.....my mind instantly conjured images of Darth Sidious. Kudos due on your part for the subliminal Star Wars reference.

While we are on the subject of constructive critisism, you do however stand to be corrected. Please, in all future communication refer to me on my lawful name, Charlie Sunshine. Say it like it's one word. Much like A Tribe Called Quest or A Pimp Named Slickback (say the whole thing if you will, yes- everytime.). I have out taste and sensitivity to your moral code decided to negate the explanatory noun in front of my name. I encourage you to try it out though, you might just be suprised just how much you like it. Although, I do know that your full name would be somewhere along the lines of Whiny Bitch Be Called Nagatha Christie. And yes. I will respectfully refer to you as such everytime....out of said moral duty and obligation- as you so elequently pointed out.

What can I say...Bitch's been having problems....lets see what my bottomless pit of excuses spits out today? I don't think I've quite kicked my nicotene addiction...even though a Malboro Red hasn't passed my lips in over a year- unlike most people, I say thank you for second hand smoke. And well, to be quite honest, I've been living in fear for the past few weeks of becomming a fully fledged not-so-barefoot hippie. Yes, you're right. I'm much to manic for that to happen. Minutes to madness is my motto when the sun shines. That and the fact that my parents never really let me play outside in fear of me being shot on the street when I was just a wee sprite (rough neighbourhood, coupled with middle class misplaced fear)...so the soles of these pretty feet aren't engineered to be shoeless. I also had to take time to revise me and Moth's zombie apocolypse survival plan- it would be neglegant on our part to not have all our ducks in a row....besides things are getting stranger by the day. A hairy worm keeps on following me in the garden. True story- so what does that tell you? Imminent.


The Higher Authority...defeated after a stomp.
 How you like them apples now, biatch?
But please, don't you dare fret about my standing with the Higher Authority. I saw him at a trance party a few weeks ago- standing defeated with a cardboard sign in his hand, looking to bum a lift home. Doubtfull he's comming after me, defeated is a colour he wears quite well. Your scare tactics won't work with me- I'm wys mos.

Burn, Bazinga! And haarties for you....in less than 48 hours I might add. Ahem.

In brightest day, in blackest night...no eeebil shall escape my sight.

Sincereley,
Charlie Sunshine
P.S. Yes, everytime.